


The Visitor

by Thrace Addicted (Amidala_Thrace)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-05
Updated: 2010-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amidala_Thrace/pseuds/Thrace%20Addicted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gods, Lee, you're out of practice. I'll have to come back more often."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the winter 2009 incarnation of BSG Fix Exchange on LJ. My giftee, Lotus79, requested Kara/Lee and smut, and this is what my brain did with that prompt. The story is essentially my version of finale fix-it fic, and thus contains spoilers through S4.5's "Daybreak, Part 2." Originally posted April 14, 2009.

He isn't expecting it.

But then, nothing Kara did in life was ever predictable, so Lee supposes he should not have been surprised. She was always pulling some crazy stunt, usually one that caused him subsequently to reprimand her in front of the entire deck crew, and neither did she ever learn. In time he began to tolerate it, actually predict it, even though he'd never have told her. Kara hated predictability.

This time, though, he'd been sure she was gone. She had said goodbye. Said her journey was over, and it was time for her to move on. And he in turn had tried to understand, had struggled to still what seemed to be a widening chasm inside of him. Then Kara was gone, and all Lee could manage was a goodbye. A goodbye and a promise that she would not be forgotten.

But by whom? Him? Lee is still desperate, grieving, bereft of everyone he has loved in the days after she leaves. He can hardly bring himself to leave his tent, all his earlier goals seemingly meaningless. He's lost her, and while it's easier than when he saw her Viper explode — because this time, he knows for certain she's at peace — Lee has nothing left to cling to. No support, no sympathetic pilots, not even a gruff father to whose office he can retire at the end of the day. He has only his own presence, and he's beginning to hate himself.

He sees her — _thinks_ he sees her — the first time he leaves the lean-to to scrounge a meal. It's not much, a flash of blonde hair in his peripheral vision, but enough to make him turn and almost topple to the ground. By the time he claps eyes on the spot, there's nothing, just a bit of grass blowing in the wind. He shrugs and dismisses the sighting as his wishful imagination working overtime, conjuring up what it wants to see instead of what's actually there.

Lee would probably forget the whole thing if it weren't for the glimpses he continues to catch of her and the way she keeps haunting his dreams. Those dreams are not the usual dim nighttime images provided by a slumbering brain, either: instead, they paint vivid pictures of better times, times when he was CAG and she top gun aboard _Galactica_, and there was friendship and fighting and the barest hint of something more. He is happy in these dreams, happy and comfortable enough that he does not want to leave them.

They contain another element too, an element that he is embarrassed to admit even to himself. After all, he's hardly a teenager anymore. This sort of thing should _not_ be happening to him. He shouldn't be waking to find his sheets damp with sweat and … something else … after one of _those_ dreams.

_Those_. He rolls his eyes as he realizes it had been about to happen again, would have happened again had something not abruptly woken him tonight. Now he's left listening to the soft thrumming of the evening air, simultaneously nursing a raging hard-on.

At least this particular problem will be an easy one to solve. He plunges a hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and frees himself, exhaling slowly and torturously so as not to become lost in sensation. Gods, he must have been so _close_ when he woke … this won't take long, not at all.

Lee closes his eyes and conjures Kara, not even embarrassed anymore at using her this way. She's gone, after all, and he knew her well enough to also know that far from being pissed, she'd be amused at the prospect of being his personal porn. _Yes … right there_ … oh, he's finally found his rhythm and he tugs at his cock again, again, running slick fingers over the head —

And hears a noise.

A noise that _didn't_ come from him, that was not a suppressed grunt or moan — he still feels self-conscious about making those sounds, even though he's alone — and sounded almost like … like a snicker.

His eyes jerk open at the same time she says, "Hey, don't stop 'cause of me. I'm just enjoying the show."

It's Kara.

How or why, Lee doesn't know, and there's hardly enough blood getting to his brain for him to puzzle it out. He simply lies there, gaping like a fish, as she strides over and stands by his bedside to stare critically at him.

"Oh, I guess I interrupted. Whoops. I can make up for it, though." She strips, quickly and efficiently.

Only with her preparing to climb over him, naked as the day she was born, is he finally able to summon a semblance of words. "_Kara?!_"

"No, I'm actually Helo in disguise," Kara says sarcastically. "_Duh_, of course it's me. Now c'mon, one side." She gestures to his hand still frozen comically around his cock.

"B-b-but you — you're —" Lee gibbers. He's helpless in the face of this utter incongruity.

"_Not_ dead," she corrects automatically. "I can come back any damn time I want to, actually. And tonight I decided I was looking for a good frak. So, let's. Unless you'd rather just stare at me all night."

She's definitely who she says she is; the bluntness would convince him of that even if nothing else did. And he wants to think of a reason why he should question her presence, why he should say no, why he should raise an objection (_it's only temporary and it'll hurt that much more when she leaves again_), but Lee can't. He can't, he can't, when he's inches from what was shaping up to be one of the most mind-blowing climaxes of his life and he now has what appears to be Kara right in front of him. So, against his better judgment, Lee does something he's only done three times before in his entire life — yes, he can count each of those times — and tosses caution to the four winds.

He lets go of himself (_oh gods oh gods so hard so close_) and reaches up to touch her, finding firm, warm skin under his fingers. And she's already smiling at him, grinning, that shit-eating grin he misses so much, and reaching down to touch his face with uncharacteristic gentleness. Simultaneously she slides down, down, and it's New Caprica all over again. Same thoughts, same emotions, same love, a desperate love —

(_But maybe this time I'll get to keep her._)

Kara feels so real. So unbearably real. She's wet, tight, everything Lee remembers, everything he's tried so hard to forget. For a moment he forgets how to swallow, forgets his own name, leaves behind everything important except the way she feels and the way he feels inside her, just resting there, leaving rhythm and pace and motion up to her.

She moves.

Moves, begins to lift herself up and down, one hand splayed against his chest and the other still caressing his face, so gentle, so lovingly. He wishes time would _stop_, that it would just cease to be, but Lee knows that's impossible and that even if this is a dream, he needs to grab onto it now with both hands.

And then quite suddenly he can't think at all, because Kara's clenching around him, milking him, her eyes bright and amused as she picks up the pace. Lee has already delayed the inevitable too many times and his body quickly takes over, his hips lifting to meet her, changing the angle just —

Right —

_There. Oh._

"He finally catches on," Kara drawls, panting. "Gods, Lee, you're out of practice. I'll have to come back more often."

He might laugh, if he were more coherent, but all he can do is drift his hands upwards, cupping her breasts, watching her gaze cloud as his thumbs circle her nipples. They stiffen in record time and she moans, and suddenly it's all he can do to hold on, to restrain himself. The heat is spreading through his belly, his balls tightening, drawing up, the inevitable precursors to his climax.

"Come on, Lee, come on." She's working him harder now, faster. "You — you _need_ this, godsdamnit, you — _need_ —" And the rest of Kara's sentence is lost as she gasps a little, panting in an unmistakable climax, her muscles contracting around him. Part of Lee thinks that _this_ is what he's been waiting for, wanting, because he's never allowed himself a climax without ensuring his partner has been taken care of first. (Well. _Almost_ never.) But the other part —

The other part is lost in a blizzard of sensation.

And he gives himself to it fully, without reservation, until he is grunting and clutching at her, gasping with the force of it as he empties himself. Kara kisses Lee as he comes, all sweetness and hair brushing teasingly over his face. He doesn't know it then, but remembers later, and that is enough.

After, she lies with him. There are so many questions he wants to ask, so many answers he feels he needs (_will you stay? Why did you come back? I need you, won't you please stay? Where are you when you aren't here?_) but she's stroking his hair and he's already halfway to sleep, his mind going blissfully blank.

Kara kisses him again, this time a gesture full of tenderness she'd never exhibited when she was alive, when she was Starbuck.

"Stay," Lee whispers.

She smacks him affectionately. "Go to sleep, Apollo."

"Don't call me Apollo." But he's not sure whether he actually said that, or merely dreamed the words.

She stays.

In the end, she stays.


End file.
